Damage is Cumulative
by shameless butterfly
Summary: OC-centric one-shot. Technology isn't always perfect and it isn't always safe, and nobody's in a better position to realize that than an ensign forced to hide as Voyager passes through Devore space. Spoilers for the episode Counterpoint.


**Disclaimer**: Star Trek: Voyager isn't mine. I'm making no profit from this story.

**Author's Note**: Spoilers for episode 5x10, Counterpoint. This was written directly after I watched Counterpoint -- I'd been toying with giving this character a transporter phobia for a long time, and this finally gave me a way to do that.

Reviews are loved, but please don't review just to flame me for having OCs -- the term isn't synonymous with Mary-Sue, despite what some people seem to think. I like my OCs, and I like to write about them.

**Damage is Cumulative**

Ensign Takahashi is frightened.

The world is supposed to shimmer into existence around him. The room is supposed to appear through the dancing blue sparks, leaving him standing on his feet, safe and sound and in one piece. The cargo bay is supposed to be visible and it is supposed to stay that way, but it isn't -- it's fading in and out of vision, and his thoughts are sort of doing the same thing, as though the molecules of his brain aren't quite staying in one place.

He's sure that some of the molecules are going somewhere else, carried away by the blue light that surrounded him, and he can feel himself starting to panic, but it's like his lungs aren't all there so he can't take those deep, relaxing, purifying breaths like he's supposed to when he's frightened, and his mind is racing and it's overwhelming and --

The light finally dies away and the cargo bay is exactly the way it's supposed to be, real and solid. The deckplates are firm under his feet -- and under his knees, as he realizes that he can't quite stay standing. There's an awfully loud noise as his knees hit the deck, and he knows he'll have bruises later, but he's more worried about other things now; things like the taste of bile in the back of his throat, bringing with it a sickening nausea that seems to be in his head and his stomach at the same time. It feels and tastes like he's going to throw up and he presses a hand to his mouth, the other pressed against the cool metal of the deck below him, so reassuringly solid and cold against his palm.

He can't think. It's hard to breathe, and he feels as though his lungs still hadn't materialized all the way even though the engineer in him knows that's pretty darn ridiculous. He's all the way here, he tries to tell himself, and the only reason he's panicking is that he still doesn't have full control of his emotions, or whatever it is that Tuvok and the Doctor usually tell him whenever he starts to panic. Too bad telling himself to calm down never works.

"Are you all right?" someone asks from above and behind him, and a strong hand grabs his wrist and pulls him to his feet. He still feels like he's going to throw up, and he still isn't really capable of thinking in coherent sentences, but he tries to speak anyway.

"No," he admits through the hand still pressed to his mouth, and then he stops talking because he can taste bile again and he really really doesn't want to throw up in front of Vorik, who he has to work with every day, and Tuvok, who still tries to teach him control and meditation even though it's probably hopeless, and all the refugees whose species he can't remember right now -- not to mention the captain!

The thought of humiliating himself in front of Captain Janeway makes his stomach lurch; Vorik takes hold of his upper arm to steady him (at least he thinks it's Vorik; there's Vulcan strength in the grip, and he can see Tuvok beside him, hands clasped). In any other situation that would make things worse, but he's not at all sure that he's capable of staying on his feet, and at the moment he's more concerned about not falling over than anything else.

He can barely understand what's going on around him until he hears Vorik's voice, pitched low enough that only he and Tuvok are likely to hear it above the noise.

"If I support you, can you walk?"

He nods. He thinks he can.

"Put your arm around my shoulder. Do not hesitate to lean on me; I can more than support your weight."

He leans on Vorik and stumbles out of the cargo bay, and as he passes the captain he feels another hand touch him -- a soft pat on the back, kind and gentle, accompanied by a few words in her warm, scratchy voice. He doesn't really register what she says, but they're not the sort of words that need to be heard to be understood; they're meant to encourage, to soothe, and they succeed in that. He trusts his captain to keep him safe, even if the safety makes his stomach lurch and his lungs burn.

With Vorik helping him he manages to get to Sickbay, and he manages to calm down; his stomach, too, calms down, after the Doctor injects him with something he assumes is an antiacid. He finally stops shaking (something he wasn't aware he was doing until he stopped) and he's about ready to get on with his life when the Doctor says something that terrifies him.

"I've just treated Tuvok and two of the refugees for acute cellular degradation. I've repaired most of the damage, but unfortunately the damage is cumulative."

So he wasn't just imagining it all. Hiding in transporter suspension isn't going to work for much longer... and he has every right to be terrified.


End file.
